Antihero
by onion.sun
Summary: Tom Riddle finds the contours blurred after meeting her.


"I don't want you to get sick of me," the girl spoke at one point, rolling on her side casually.

These words would have been shattering if they had not come from Delphine Rosier. She had not meant this to sound lovesick in any way, quite the opposite actually.

"That would just kill the spontaneity of these meetings. And I'd hate for that to happen after all the fun we've been having," she drawled lazily, letting him absorb her naked body in the weak light of a bedside lamp.

She was a very disturbing, beautiful sight, lying there completely stark and natural, as if she had been carved only moments ago.

Her tone had been coquettish and playful, with a hint of malice, meaning to let him know she was more of a physical being and that she would always be indifferent to feelings of any kind.

Tom Riddle was not fooled though, as much as she put up a strong front.

Carefully hidden desperation was boiling under the surface of her glacial eyes. He had noticed it first when he had walked into her room and had hesitated for a moment at the door, almost as if he had wanted to go back. She had pulled his arm instantly, shrieking more than speaking about how he had made her wait like an idiot, all the while, her crumbling smile failing to control her nerves.

It was all the more amusing now to watch her act like a calculated seductress when he knew that she was melting on the inside.

"You are saying we see too much of each other," he said.

She opened one of her eyes and gave him a crooked smile. "You catch on fast."

"You called me tonight," he reasoned.

"Yes, but you should have refused me," she said impatiently, her fingers playing carelessly with his hair, which had fallen over his forehead.

"Last time I did that you threw a tantrum."

"It was only a _small_ tantrum and it did not even involve you. I was just upset. But I really do think we should keep these meetings few and far between, all the same," she said, her voice sweet and tender.

Delphine had no intentions of seeing him any less, but she hoped he would either be too weak to accept, or would agree and realize after a while how much he truly wanted her.

She always wanted to punish Tom and prove to him how strong and independent she really was, how she never really needed him and how he would never have her. She secretly wished he would need her desperately just so she could have the satisfaction of his agony.

Despite all this, most of the times, she only managed to punish herself. Tom knew exactly what she was doing and played her game to perfection, to the point where Delphine had to throw small tantrums, then and now, just to be able to be with him.

Even so, she was still certain she was the one in control. She never allowed herself to think about her shame, her conscience, her own suffering dignity; she felt and knew that she was the one holding the dice and she was going to keep that illusion for as long as she could.

Tom usually took pity on her because she was such a splendid Slytherin specimen, right down to her violent red hair, frosted blue eyes and slender, smooth legs. A queen of elegance and allure that had the talent of keeping the eye entertained. He let her believe he desired her most and liked her best, because it kept her going in the same self-assured fashion and it brought out a satisfactory glow to her eyes which was hard to ignore.

"I raise no objections if that is what you want," he replied impassively, his mind already drifting to other matters which occupied his thoughts.

"Oh, Tom, always so gallant," she said, rolling her eyes in disdain. She thought he couldn't fool her because she knew him so well. She knew it wasn't all the same for him, or at least she hoped it fervently.

Delphine gurgled in sweet laughter and buried her head in the pillow, pulling her curls over her shoulders skilfully, almost as if she were drawing a curtain.

* * *

><p>In the morning, the school was always startlingly new and fresh, no blemish, no dark spots, no weary shadows, the chilling wind of the night having turned into a soft breeze that sneaked through the Great Hall like a whisper.<p>

Abraxas Malfoy leant over Tom's shoulder during their conversation and told him about the new plaque on the second floor, close to the girls' bathroom.

"It's right up there with the suit of armour. It's metallic with silvery edges. Quite miserable actually. No one goes to see it. There's a silly little shrine under it where someone left a bunch of lilies. No wonder everyone avoids the floor now."

Tom's brows almost knitted in a frown, before his face was released from any tensions.

"The living need to make a show of the dead in order to feel less guilty. I don't see how that concerns you."

"It doesn't, but you have to admit, you can't exactly ignore it, my Lord," he replied softly.

"You had better. There's no point in mocking something that will soon be effaced anyway."

Abraxas would have wanted to say more but seeing as Tom's lips were thinning in the usual, disapproving line, he moved on to more disengaging subjects.

* * *

><p>It was right before dinner that same day when he finally managed to find himself alone on the second floor. He had been busy with classes and insufferable Slytherins following him around like insects, not to mention he had had to sit beside Titus Goyle in Potions which had driven him almost insane. He had little patience for stupidity and general ignorance. He would have wanted to be completely alone and walk down these corridors without the impending knowledge that he might encounter an unpleasant face when he turned the corner.<p>

Which he did, eventually.

When he was a child, he had wanted to disappear. Now, he wanted everyone else to, except for him. Letting himself die or live was in direct correspondence with the fate of all the people around him.

Arrested by his consuming thoughts, he had not noticed someone else was already standing in front of the plaque.

The student in question was a young girl, who was holding a small string of lilies.

She was bent down, in the middle of replacing the last bunch which had already dried out.

She stopped for some moments and crouched down to stare at the name engraved on the surface.

She seemed to be muttering something under her breath.

"You knew her?" Tom asked, surprised by her appearance.

The young girl turned around quickly, her widened eyes betraying her own astonishment, and looked up at him with unexpected candour.

"Myrtle was a good friend," she answered, getting up.

Tom surveyed her in curiosity. He could not place her entirely, but her face seemed familiar somehow.

He noticed her Ravenclaw badge. She pursed her lips in a small, apologetic smile.

Then it dawned on him that she was in his Ancient Runes class.

She always sat near the window, buried in her notebooks, but he always saw her from a distance, the details of her face never quite reaching him.

"You came to pay your respects?" she asked politely.

Tom looked at the plaque in reluctance, almost as if the sight made him nauseous.

"I was curious about her. Everyone is," he said instead.

The girl seemed slightly unconvinced, mainly because hardly anyone bothered to come here, which rendered his theory invalid, but she also knew that curiosity could be exerted from afar and in this case, no one wanted to get too close to Myrtle, and everyone wanted to know from a distance.

It made sense.

"I see. You can come closer if you wish," she said, moving away.

Tom took one step forward, keeping his eyes on the white lilies scattered on the shrine.

"What was she like?" he suddenly asked.

"She was very kind. She always helped the younger students. She was very shy sometimes, but she was lovely, all the same," the girl replied unabashedly.

Tom was taken aback by the fond description. He narrowed his eyes. From what he knew, Myrtle had never had many friends and she had never proven herself to be kind or lovely.

He wondered if she had really been that way with this girl or if she was only painting a pretty picture because Myrtle was dead.

"You're probably thinking I'm glorifying the dead," she said, smiling sadly.

Tom almost flinched in surprise.

"You can't blame me. Your words, not mine."

"I understand your doubts. But it really is a great pity we lost her, either way," she replied, looking at the plaque again.

Tom felt a nagging irritation in his chest, almost as if he was being accused of something, almost as if she were blaming him for her loss, even though the girl wasn't even considering him.

"I would agree, but I did not know her. Unlike many others, though, I do not only think of her as the victim of a monster," he said, his eyes lingering on her shoulder-length blonde hair.

The girl smiled in agreement, nodding her head.

"That counts more than some flowers," she said, shifting her weight from one leg to another, as if she were embarrassed by her own gesture.

Tom acquiesced soberly and looked down at his watch as a sign that he had to leave soon. He was about to turn around and wait for the flight of stairs to come to him, when he changed his mind and extended his hand.

"You probably don't know me – " he began.

"Um, I believe you're in one of my classes," she said, shaking his hand slightly. "I'm Jenny Bates."

"Tom Riddle," he replied, gripping her hand.

"I thought as much. You looked very familiar."

Tom would have thought she would know him as a Prefect first, but then again, the Ravenclaws didn't take count of these things in the same way the Gryffindors did.

And she was not a Prefect herself.

"Likewise. I have somewhere to be, unfortunately, but we shall probably see each other in class," he told her, his mind drifting towards the Ancient Runes homework he had to get done.

"All right, I have to go to dinner myself," she replied, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

Tom almost winced in annoyance. Why had he not simply said the same thing? He was going to the Great Hall as well.

"Oh, then I suppose we shall walk together," he said, his expression slightly sour, as he turned once more towards the moving staircase.

Jenny nodded and followed him meekly.

They stepped on the stairs and waited for them to move. Jenny looked at him without a clear purpose in mind, as if she were staring at the wall, and he couldn't help but find her eyes lifeless somehow. They were brown and dry, almost faded, like they had never seen the light.

They walked in silence all the way to the Great Hall, listening to their footsteps and looking at each other from time to time merely to check they were still there.

Before they arrived, though, he decided to ask her a question.

"Why didn't you just conjure some flowers?"

"How did you know they weren't conjured?"

"Don't insult my intelligence. I can obviously tell."

Jenny quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, of course you can, I was only curious."

"Well then?" he asked impatiently.

"It would have defeated my purpose. One needs to make an effort on certain occasions," she explained.

"A Muggle effort?" he asked, sneering.

"A _real_ effort," she corrected, ignoring his tone.

"Magic isn't real then?" he countered acidly.

"It isn't always enough," she confessed, smiling to herself.

They had arrived at the large doors. He let her walk before him, which she did, keeping her head slightly lowered.

"You do have some eccentric views then," he concluded.

Jenny seemed very surprised to hear this.

"Not at all."

Tom did not know what to say to that, seeing as his table was waiting and curious eyes had started to close in on them.

"See you in class then," Jenny said quickly, patting his upper arm, before leaving hastily towards the Ravenclaw table.

Tom arrived at his table slightly unnerved, as if something had not gone right.

He sat down next to Mulciber, who was stabbing his steak resentfully, throwing odd glances around him.

"Something not boding well with you?" Tom asked.

"There's a certain feeling in the air, my Lord. It's putrid. It's always the same at the beginning of the year," he babbled into his food.

Tom let his chin fall into his palm pensively.

"Now I am dying to hear Tom, who was that girl?" a voice asked him from behind.

Delphine had popped next to him out of nowhere and was wearing her trademark crooked smile.

"No one," he replied nonchalantly.

"You two looked like you were talking, you couldn't have talked to 'no one'."

"Since you care so much," Tom spoke, knowing this would bother her, "it was just some naive little Ravenclaw."

"I could hardly care, really, but you are rarely seen talking to a stranger," Delphine argued.

"She's not. She is in my class."

"Which one?" Delphine asked, narrowing her eyes.

Tom turned to his food instead and refused to reply. He began eating.

"Tom, please, which one?"

He remained stubbornly silent, ignoring her completely. Delphine groaned in frustration. She knew she wouldn't get anything out of him now.

"You are impossible as always, be careful not to choke on your food," she drawled, walking away.

Tom would have wanted to teach her a lesson for speaking like that, but he couldn't be bothered to use his magic on her. He was more preoccupied now with the ridiculous notion of magic not being enough.


End file.
